


Fuck you and your milk, kid.

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, we didn't even have enough money for milk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Turning ten is apparently a really big deal to the Iero family because I swear to God I've never seen so many grumpy little Italians fit into one two bedroom house before. Not to mention it's Halloween of all days so there are stupid little kids asking for candy every three seconds at our door. _We didn't fucking buy any, okay?_   In the last hour, I've been slapped on the back seven times by old guys I'm sure I'm supposed to know and they all say the same thing:  _You're a man now, Frankie._ Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. Then there's my dad who's sitting in the corner sulking and staying as far away as possible from my mom. She notices, but doesn't say anything and smiles at all the old hairy guys who call her 'sweetheart.' My mother is a fucking saint. And don't reprimand me for cussing because right now I'm ready to explode, but my mom said I can't until I open all the presents and take at least three bites of cake. 

My dad split about four months back which wasn't too big of a surprise to me.  He went off to be with the rest of his band on the other side of Jersey, which is just fine with me cos he's sort of a dick head anyway. I miss him sometimes though. I miss his drum set in the garage most of all. The divorce was a lot of yelling on dad's end and a lot of ugly crying on mom's end so I just kept out of it and played Pokemon with Hambone. I don't even really like Pokemon, but it's a lot better than hearing  _I hate you_  and  _get back here bitch, or you're gonna be sorry._ Not that my dad's an abusive person, he just really hates it when people run when he's yelling at them. I know that one from experience. I decided to stay with my mom, even though the court said I could trade off sometimes. It wasn't really a hard decision. I got to keep my awesome mom and her rad veggie lasagna and well, my dad didn't have much to offer. I think he secretly likes that I didn't pick him, anyhow. 

My pops loves me apparently, otherwise he wouldn't have brought himself and a dozen other NJ assholes to my birthday, so I sort of forgive him for calling me a pansy last year. I don't really mind that he barely said hi when he came through the door or that he has been sitting in the same corner for over an hour because I don't know what I would say to him if he talked to me. 

Mom's eyes are pretty red and glassy and I don't say anything because that's not gentlemanly; instead I just hug her for a very long time and the room gets real quiet. Gramps doesn't like awkward silences though, so he claps his hands really loudly and shoves the pile of presents towards me. 

I really like my Grandpa. He's my dad's dad and he's the coolest guy I know. You can practically smell the Italian genes coming off of him and his huge ridiculous mustache. He and his brother were also in bands so I guess that's my destiny for now. Grandpa also let me and my mom stay in his old house for free because my mom doesn't have a job yet and we can barely afford a can of soup. Even though my parents aren't together anymore, my Gramps still calls my mom 'Peaches' and gives her kisses on the cheek when she's sad. 

Like I said, I really like my Grandpa. 

There's a big pile of presents in front of me and you can't really blame a kid who just turned ten for ripping into them immediately. I try to act happy about what I got.

I've never been much for drama.

There's a baseball and bat, which, okay. I'm not really one for sports, but the guy who gave it to me is looking at me really intensely so I grin as much as possible and say  _WOW!_ In my not-an-asshole voice. I hope that does the trick because this guy has at least seventy tattoos and a really ugly scar running down his cheek. 

Socks, t-shirts with dinosaurs on them, embarrassingly enough multiple pairs of boxers, a VHS of some manly movie I'm sure all the kids are watching these days, and then comes my Grandpa's present. 

It's a vinyl. More importantly, it's a Black Flag vinyl signed by Henry Rollins and I'm grinning so hard I probably look like some cracked out joker. I set it aside and look at my Grandpa. Smug bastard. I love him. 

Then it's my dad's turn to give me a gift. I wasn't really expecting anything except deep down I think I was because now there are butterflies in my stomach as he gets up gruffly with nothing in his hand. I try not to look too disappointed when he only hands me a card. 

I open it slowly because I never know with this guy. It could be a really weird singing card like on the TV and it could sing some awful song from the twenties about body odor or something equally as horrific. 

 ** _You're a man now, Frankie._** I roll my eyes at that because  _come on_ and keep reading.  ** _I'm proud of you._  **And that's all it says. No "I love you," no "I'm sorry for leaving you and your mother without a penny to live on." There's a slip of paper all folded up inside the crevice of the card. The card, by the way, is just Clint Eastwood on the front pointing to the reader with a little speech bubble saying "You're old." How endearing. So I open the piece of paper with mild interest and it just says **_garage_**  which I have  _no_ idea what that's supposed to mean so I just look up at my dad and he jerks his head towards the garage door. 

I don't know what I'm expecting really but I get up anyways and follow my dad to the garage and people are following now and I'm getting super nervous. What if it was a car? I just turned ten I can't even get my license for another  _six years_ does he really expect me to wait so long?

It's not a car though.  _Holy fuck._ I send a little 'sorry!' to God real quick because I was raised up right and my mom wouldn't want me to cuss like that. 

Not a car indeed. In fact, it's my dad's old 1958 Les Paul Telecaster and my breathing has become sporadic because  _holy fucking shit_ and I have no time to apologize to God for that one because I'm already cradling it in my arms like a baby. My dad stares down at me proudly for the first time ever and everyone's real quiet except my Grandpa who is most likely cursing in Italian. My mom's covering her mouth with her hand and looking at my dad like he's from another planet and everyone in the band has this knowing grin on their faces. I try to talk but nothing is coming out so I settle for stroking a few cords and looking at my dad like he's Jesus himself. 

"It was nothing." My dad says after a few minutes and for the first time in my life I want to hug him, so I do. He's as shocked as I am, but he's slinging on arm around my small frame and I'm thinking  _this guy is pretty rad._

The moment can't last forever, no matter how many polaroid photos my mom snaps, so we all shuffle back into the kitchen for cake, and I've got my Tele strapped to my back though it's about the same size as my body. 

Nobody says anything about how my mom hasn't given me a present. 

They get it. 

The cake eating is less than uneventful. I manage about four bites before I push the plate away and my mom takes it away, planting a gross kiss on the top of my head. I give her a look as if to say  _can I please go see Hambone now?_  And because she's the coolest mom in history she nods, because she gets me, and I wave to all the strangers sitting on my couch. I grab my keys and hightail my ass over to wherever Hambone is off to because I  _know_ him and James have already started TPing without me, but it's okay because becoming ten has taught me a lot about being mature instead of punching their dumb faces.

I'm right, of course, they're currently at the Way's house with eggs and toilet paper in their chubby arms. 

"Frankie!" Hambone bellows even though it's eleven at night and we're outside someone's house vandalizing. James and I nod in hello and I punch Hambone's shoulder for good measure and he stuffs a carton of eggs in my arms. "Happy birthday kiddo." I hate when he calls me kiddo. He's only thirteen and James is twelve so I don't get why I'm such a kid to them.

"So why the Way weirdos?" We usually never bother them. They're just freaky, and their mom is freakier. Hambone rolls his eyes as if the answer were in the sky but I wait patiently because we're friends.

"Because that Mikey kid called me porky yesterday and his older brother is a faggoty freak." James chuckles a bit at the word 'faggoty' and I keep my mouth shut.

"Okay." I say because there's nothing else to say.

I throw the first egg.

 _THWACK._  

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Sweetheart, could you go and get some milk? We're fresh out." My mom calls from the kitchen tiredly. Man, just when I'm about to save Princess Peach from Bowser's Castle my mom wants me to get some stupid milk? I don't even drink milk. I'm lactose intolerant.

"'Kay!" I shout back. I get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen table. "Got any bucks?" My mom looks tired. Like, way too tired to be standing right now. She runs a hand through her bangs and smiles. 

"This is all I've got right now." There are three quarters and two dimes. It's not going to be enough, but I just smile back and scoop it up. I also kiss her on the cheek because I feel like I never do that enough. 

"Thanks, Ma."

I'm not very good at skateboarding. Almost everyone knows that. I find it too scary that the ground is moving so fast beneath me. Also, I don't know how to stop. So maybe skateboarding wasn't the best idea for getting to the SafeWay down the street, but I've only fallen twice and I'm half way there. 

Fucking milk. 

It's Sunday, which means all the smelly old people and depressed middle aged mothers are in church right now. My mom stopped going to church when Dad split, so I don't see why I have to go either. There's only one other family I know of in Belleville that doesn't go to church, and that's the Ways, AKA the freaks. 

I actually don't know the Ways, but Hambone says that they practice voodoo on stray cats and I think cats are pretty cool. Rumor has it, Mrs. Way killed her husband and had Mikey and Gerard help her with the cleanup, but I don't believe that because Hambone told me that after he got high on weed the first time. 

Three scrapes and two bruises later, I get to SafeWay. I don't know what I'm going to do about the money situation yet, but I walk in confidently anyways. I don't know why milk has to be so expensive. It's just milk. There's a lot of different kinds, but my Mom always buys the kind with the red cap. I don't know what makes it any different than the one with the orange cap, but I stick to the red cap just in case. Hambone always has the kind with the blue cap and I hate it. Why do my friends always have the wrong kind of milk?

I'm a dollar short for the milk, even though I grab the smallest size. It's just for my Mom's coffee, so quality over quantity, right? With a deep breath, I place the three quarters and two dimes onto the counter as well as the milk. Maybe the guy will take pity on me. The whole town knows I'm poor as shit anyways. He's counting the coins and scanning the milk simultaneously and for some reason that makes me really uncomfortable. He shoots me an apologetic look. God, I hate when grownups do that.

"Sorry, kid, you're a little over a dollar short." Someone else gets in line behind me and I'm sweating. Maybe I could just take the milk and run? Huh, my first crime would be stealing dairy and for some reason I don't think Hambone or James would be impressed with that. 

"Yeah, but-" The guy pushes the money back towards me and sends me another one of those  _aw boo hoo_ looks while putting the milk off to the side. I may be ten, but I sort of feel like crying right now. I can't even afford milk, how fucking embarrassing. The guy behind the counter looks at me like  _hey kid you can leave now_ and I just stand there. "Look, I know I'm a dollar short, but I really need this milk. My Mom is tired and just wants some milk and I can pay it off tomorrow but right now I just can't leave with-" Apparently the guy behind me in line is getting tired of this because he's thrusting down a five dollar bill onto my pitiful pile of coins. It's not just any guy, though, it's that so called freak I egged on my birthday.

It's Gerard Way.

He doesn't look mad either, just... nice. He's smiling, in fact, and holding a bouquet of flowers. 

"I got it." The cashier takes the five and thrusts the milk into my hand. Gerard takes the change from him and buys the flowers quickly. I just stand there and collect the coins off the counter because the guy I egged just payed for my Mom's milk and I'm probably supposed to wait around and thank him.

When he's done I'm still standing next to him like an idiot, so when he starts to walk, so do I. 

"Hey, thanks for that." I feel really awkward. Gerard's at least thirteen, and I'm just some stupid ten year old who can't pay for a small carton of milk.

"Don't worry about it." He's actually really cool, I think. He's wearing Nike shoes that I could never dream of affording and a jean jacket with a Misfits patch sewed on with what looks and smells like floss. I want to know why he bought flowers, but it seems impolite to ask so I just stare at the rose in the middle. "They're for my Grandma." He says bluntly. Maybe it's a sore subject. I just nod. 

"I'll totally pay you back," I begin. He's walking really fast, it's hard to keep up. "I can give you extra, even, like as interest or something." He turns to me barely and smiles. He still hasn't said anything and I'm starting to sweat again.

"Can you skateboard?" He asks, instead. I look down at the skateboard in my hand and shrug. "Cool." Gerard is pretty weird, I decide. 

We don't talk. In fact, I don't even see where we're going until we reach the front of my house. 

"See you later, Frank Iero." Gerard smiles at me and winks. I may be ten, but I've seen enough romantic comedies with my Mom to know what that means. How does he know my name, anyways? How did he know where I live? He's walking away before I can even react to his departure, so I lift my hand in an attempt to wave and look at the milk in my hands pitifully. 

"Bye, Gerard Way."


End file.
